


A Neverending Ache

by timelords_wizards_winchesters



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Another sad Eleven fic I'm sorry, Eleven/Amy friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-23 08:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12502788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelords_wizards_winchesters/pseuds/timelords_wizards_winchesters
Summary: He can feel it, when she dies. And he's held it back for so long that he can't do it anymore."He hurts, Rory. He hurts so much and he never talks about it."





	A Neverending Ache

The moment the Doctor set foot in the console room, he could tell that something was wrong. The TARDIS was queasy - upset or anxious, he wasn't quite sure, but the feeling rushed through his mind in crashing waves, so powerful that he nearly staggered back. It was affecting him, too - he felt - well, awful, and he couldn't put his finger on why.

It looked wrong, too - the lights, usually orange and cheerful, had dimmed to a muted blue color. It seemed almost stale. The console that was usually bright and bubbly was darker and grayer. The comforting hum that usually came from the ship, the warmth that soaked into the atmosphere, was nearly absent. 

He heard footsteps behind him, but his gaze remained on the console. He knew it was Rory that shuffled into the room behind him - he was always awake before Amy was, and Amy was never that quiet. 

"Is the TARDIS sick or something?" Rory asked. The Doctor frowned. "Can TARDISes get sick?"

"She's not sick," the Doctor said slowly, still trying to process the dreadful feeling that was radiating in his mind. "More like distressed.'

"Why?"

"I don't know," the Doctor admitted. Slowly, he reached out an arm to touch the switches on the console.

"What's wrong, old girl?" he whispered to her.

He was unprepared for the answer, the TARDIS projecting images to him at a rapid pace. He pulled his hand back from the console, cradling it like he'd been shocked. It certainly looked that way - the Doctor's jaw went slack and he let out a harsh breath. 

"No," he said softly, denying it. But sure enough, closing his eyes and searching deep into his mind, he couldn't find it - the thin thread of a connection he had always shared with Rose Tyler was gone.

"Doctor, are you alright?"

The Time Lord looked like he was going to be sick, almost swaying on his feet. Rory approached him carefully, laying a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly he snapped out of it. He turned around and walked away purposefully, leaving Rory alone in the console room.

* * *

It was unnervingly quiet, Amy thought, suspicious of the calm atmosphere on the TARDIS as she dressed for the day. She made her way to the galley to locate Rory, pulling her sweater tight around her slim frame, and frowned. She'd been sleeping for a while. Normally, the Doctor would have burst through her bedroom door, rousing herself and her husband for a new adventure. Today, he had yet to make an appearance.

As Amy thought, Rory was sitting alone in the kitchen when she entered. She immediately picked up on the fact that something strange was going on. 

"What's wrong?" she asked him, noting the way his brow was furrowed in concern and the fact that he was staring at his morning tea instead of drinking it.

"I don't know," Rory sighed, somewhat exasperated. "You can feel it, can't you? Something's wrong with the TARDIS, everything feels all wonky."

Amy paused for a moment, taking in the uneasy feeling that lay just on the edge of her consciousness.

"It's like...she's empty," Amy thought aloud as she moved to grab her mug and pour her own tea. "Not as lively as she usually is?"

Rory nodded in agreement.

"The Doctor said she was 'distressed'", Rory said, quoting with his fingers. "And then he got all...strange, I suppose, and he walked off."

"Where did he go?" Amy asked, bringing her mug to her lips and taking a sip.

"I have no clue," Rory mumbled, looking vaguely worried about their friend's whereabouts. "You should have seen his face, Amy. I thought he was going to be sick, for a minute. But then he just...he looked so  _sad_."

Amy stopped.

"Sad?"

"Yeah. Sad," Rory repeated. He met her eyes. "He was like...an entirely different person."

Amy frowned, her eyes narrowing as she set down her mug. Rory could tell from the way his wife's jaw was set that she had made a decision and she would not be swayed. 

"I'm going to find him."

* * *

"Doctor!" Amy called. She had been wandering the corridors for what must have been half an hour, trying to locate him. She was deeper into the labyrinth of a ship than she had ever been before, knocking on door after door, when she finally turned a corner, and there it was. A door at the end of the corridor in front of her, left slightly ajar. It was white and wooden, the paint chipping in some places, looking organic and out of place among the other metal doors that lined the hallway.

Approaching hurriedly, Amy pushed the door open, sighing with relief when she was the Doctor standing in the center of the room. She'd been getting worried. She opened her mouth to speak, but caught herself. He was facing away from her, but as she got closer, she could tell just from his posture. Something was wrong. His shoulders, normally set with confidence, were sagging, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He had taken off his tweed jacket. It was laid carefully on the nearest chair. 

Looking around, she began to notice the room for the first time. The walls were painted a warm, pale peach color. A bed was pushed up against the furthest wall, unmade, with crumpled sheets and pillows tossed on in a random fashion. A dresser with a large mirror stood on the opposite side of the room, the surface scattered with knick-knacks. There was a sliding door left open that led into a closet. 

Clothes were scattered around the floor, makeup strewn across the vanity. A large tack board hung above the bed, littered with pictures that Amy couldn't see from a distance. 

It was a bedroom. A girl's bedroom. But whose?

Amy glanced back at the Doctor, who had yet to move, or even notice her. She spoke up softly. 

"Doctor?"

When the Time Lord turned to look at her, her breath caught in her throat. His expression was slack. His eyes were red and watery. There was an age, an emptiness to them, that she had never seen before. Mostly, he looked tired. Tired and sad, and very un-Doctorish. She understood what Rory had been trying to describe earlier. 

Pulled from his trance, the Doctor turned away from Amy and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. In his hand was a small piece of paper - a picture. He traced it gingerly, his fingers following the edges. Amy hesitated, hanging back. He still had yet to say a word, this talkative man, and it was worrying.

The Doctor ran his hands over the crumpled sheets, taking a deep, hoarse breath. He dropped his face in his hands, leaning on his elbows. The picture he'd been holding fluttered to the ground, landing softly and soundlessly on the squishy carpet. Everything was silent for a moment.

Then she noticed the trembling. His hands, his shoulders, his entire body shook, wracked with silent sobs. 

"Raggedy man," she said worriedly, because that's all she could think to say, crossing the room to kneel in front of him. She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, and suddenly he was reaching back, scrambling to embrace her, and a horrid, involuntary cry tore from his throat. 

The Doctor cried, and she held him and stroked his hair and bit back her own tears, suddenly emotional on his behalf. She pulled up to sit beside him on the bed, letting his tears soak her sweater and silently, gently rocking.

"She's dead, oh god, she's dead, Amy," he was gasping. Her heart sunk in her chest at his words. She said nothing, just held him tighter, cradling his head like a child's, drawing him in to her chest.

"She's gone, she's been gone for so long," he whispered into her shirt, his voice cracking. "But I could feel her, I could reach out - she was always there, on the edge of my mind, and now I..."

 Amy's eyes trailed down to the floor, looking at the forgotten photograph. It was a girl, a simple girl, with blonde hair and brown eyes and a wide smile, her tongue poking through her teeth. She exuded contentment and happiness, grinning at the camera with a lively smile. 

Amy murmured words of comfort into the Doctor's hair as she hugged him. 

"I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm so sorry."

He was calming down, now - the heart-wrenching sobs giving way to a silent stream of tears. She almost didn't catch his next words, they were so quiet. 

"She's dead and I never told her," the Doctor choked. "I could never say it."

Amy could feel the ache in the words, and she suddenly understood. 

"So say it now," she said softly. She untangled herself from the Doctor, one hand trailing down to grasp his own and squeezing it. She picked up the photograph off the floor and placed it in his empty hand. He stared at the girl and his bottom lip trembled. 

"I - " he began, but the words died in his throat. Amy grasped his hand tighter and he tried again, taking a deep breath.

"I love you," he said, the phrase quiet and rushed. He stared at the picture with an intensity Amy had never seen. "I love you."

Amy felt a tear slipping down her cheek. She laced her fingers with the Doctor's and lay her head on his shoulder, looking at the picture herself.

"She's beautiful," she said, and she felt the Doctor's responding nod.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "She is."

"What's her name?"

The Doctor's thumb brushed over the girl's face fondly. 

"Rose. Her name is - " he paused, clearing his throat and correcting himself. "Her name was Rose." A gentle smile crossed his face. "You would have liked her."

Silence fell again, but the Doctor was sitting up a little bit straighter. He turned and kissed Amy's forehead. 

"Thank you, Amelia."

* * *

When she made her way back to the room she shared with Rory, Amy was rather shaken by the entire encounter. She shut the door quietly behind her and Rory sat up immediately, looking up from the book he'd been reading. 

"Amy! There you are. Did you find him?"

Rory stopped speaking and set down his novel as he noticed his wife's expression. Immediately, he was up out of their bed and at her side.

"Yeah, I found him."

"Amy, what's wrong? Have you been crying?"

She opened her mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. Rory placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Where's the Doctor?"

"He's in her room," Amy said after a moment. "Rose's room."

"In whose - who is Rose?"

"She's gone," Amy said, her voice sounding small. "He loved her. And she's gone."

"Amy?"

"She died. He said - he said he could feel her. He used to feel her, in his mind, but he can't feel her anymore."

"Blimey," Rory said, letting the information sink in. "That's awful." He tugged his wife into a hug, running a comforting hand through her hair. For a moment, he thanked the universe that she was at his side, living and breathing. 

"He hurts, Rory. He hurts so much and he never talks about it," Amy said.

They both fell silent, stepping away from each other as they heard footsteps approaching. The door to their bedroom creaked open with a faint knock and the Doctor poked his head in. His eyes were still slightly red. He was smiling, but it was a pained sort of smile. 

"I'm in the mood for some chips. What do you say, Ponds?"

 

 

 


End file.
